


like we're dancing

by honey_wheeler



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Drunkenness, Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pam gets Jim to drive her home after <i>The Dundies</i>, Jim gets carried away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like we're dancing

She makes sure he drives her home after the Dundies. Angela offers, her lips pressed primly together, probably alphabetizing a list in her head entitled "Why Pam is a Whore," but Pam feels too good to deal with that. So Jim it is. She giggles and skips to the passenger side, thanking him with a curtsey when he opens her door first. Roy usually just leans over and unlocks the passenger side of his truck.

Jim’s car smells like him. It’s neat and cold and the windows are fogged. He has to lean over her to wipe the inside of the glass clean with a fast food napkin he found under the seat. His arm comes in contact with her breast too many times for her to think it’s accidental. She arches her back, just a little, and she can feel his arm pause before continuing its circular motion. His breathing is audible in the stillness of the car and when she sneaks a peek at him out of the corner of her eye, he looks flushed and jumpy.

“I don’t know where your house is,” he reminds her. She smiles, stretches.

“Me neither.”

“Pam.”

“ _Jim_.” She’s mocking his tone now, wrinkling her nose at him. He just fixes her with his stern glare.

“Fine. Right on Linden, left on Pine, right on 9th. Third house on the right.” He pulls out of the parking lot and she busies herself digging through his glove compartment. She finds a stash of cassette tapes.

“Some of us listen to CDs now, you know.”

“I prefer kicking it old school,” he informs her, his eyes on the road. “Cassettes are making a comeback.” One tape catches her eye.

“REO Speedwagon?” she asks. “Seriously, Jim.”

“Shut up, they’re underrated.” She rolls her eyes and tosses the cassette into the backseat. He’s lucky she doesn’t toss it out the window.

She doesn’t move when he pulls up to the curb in front of her neighbor's house. She doesn’t want to go home yet. Roy’s truck isn’t in the driveway. Probably out with Darryl, still. Sometimes he doesn’t come home at all. He never calls to let her know, either, no matter how often she asks him to.

“We’re here,” Jim tells her. She still doesn’t move. Not even when he reaches over to unbuckle her seatbelt and his knuckles press against her hip. She refuses to help, so he has to catch her arm and thread it through the loop of the seatbelt. Then he unbuckles his own and comes around to her side of the car to open the door and haul her to her feet. Inertia carries her body into him and she laughs and clutches at his belt.

“It’s like we’re dancing,” she giggles.

“Right. Exactly like that.” He guides her onto the curb and up the walk, one arm around her waist and one hand at her elbow. She figures she can get him to carry her, so she loops her arms around his neck and pretends to stumble. Sure enough, he catches her knees up against his hip with one hand and hefts her weight easily as he continues to the door, like she weighs no more than a pillow. His pulse hammers against her forehead. It occurs to her that she’s in a perfect position to taste that pulse with her tongue, so she does, pressing her tongue firmly to his warm skin. He stops then, his arms tightening. When she applies her teeth to the tendons in his neck, he lets go of her legs and she drops to the front step awkwardly, arms still around his neck. The new angle presents her with another opportunity then, namely one to taste his mouth, so she does that too.

It takes her a minute to realize he’s not responding. She pulls back and looks at him. His eyes are closed and he looks almost pained. When he opens his eyes he doesn’t look at her, just grabs her purse and digs for her keys. He opens the door and turns around and she’s kissing him again. He has to respond, it has to mean something.

He responds this time. His lips are tentative at first, gentle. His hands carefully touch her throat, her shoulders, her ribs. She smiles dreamily and twists until her breast fills his hand. The shudder that goes through him is so powerful that she pulls away, alarmed, as reality floods back. This is wrong.

“Jim.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper. “Jim, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” But his mouth cuts off her words. It is no longer gentle or tentative. It’s hard and demanding, it takes more than it gives. It frightens her a little and she tries to pull away, but Jim’s hands tighten, his mouth increases its pressure. There’s no escape from him now. He pushes her through the door and slams it behind him, his mouth never leaving hers, his hands rough enough on her body to bruise.

He has her at the couch now, the backs of her calves bumping into the upholstery. He looks down at her, his height making him imposing and a little scary. His hands curl around her shoulders and with one push he shoves her down to the couch. She sprawls in the corner, her legs diagonally across the cushion. It feels like she has no bones, no muscles. Like she couldn’t fight even if she wanted to. Without taking his eyes off her, he kneels between her legs. His hands hook around the back of her knees and he tugs, sharply, bringing her sliding down, her head thumping onto the arm of the couch, her hips at the edge of the cushion. Before she has time to process, his fingers have snaked up under her skirt and hooked into her underwear, bringing them down her thighs in rough movements. He grabs her left leg, like she’s no more than a ragdoll, and slings it over his shoulder. She can feel the whorls of his ear against the skin of her thigh and it’s a strange sensation, almost too intimate for her to take.

There is no preamble, he says no sweet words. His mouth is just on her, hot and almost rough, and the first touch of his tongue practically sends her off the couch. The movement of her hands sends pillows scattering, knocks a stack of Roy’s Sports Illustrated magazines off the end table. His teeth are on her now and it almost hurts. Almost. His mouth finds her clit and sucks, hard, and she has to press a pillow over her mouth to muffle the scream. She’s surprised she doesn’t bite a hole in it when she comes.

Then he’s grabbing the pillow and throwing it away, taking her ankles and pulling her off the couch onto the floor. She slithers onto the carpet like a blanket, one knee hooked over his shoulder still. He leaves it there as he looms over her, taking only the time to unzip his pants and shove them past his hips before he’s inside her, pushing her back up against the carpet with the force of his movement.

She wouldn’t have thought she could come again so soon, but she can feel it building again and it’s not long before she’s shuddering against him, her nails digging into his back. He thrusts twice more before stiffening against her, shoving her up on the carpet until her head is angled uncomfortably against the armchair. For a long moment they can only lie there, panting, shivering. Her skirt is bunched up around her hips. He didn’t even take off his shoes. She giggles but it comes out sounding almost hysterical.

The sound seems to snap him back to himself. He pulls back, away from her, and she can see the realization dawning on his face.

“Pam, my god, I’m...Pam, I’m so-” The sound of a truck pulling into the drive interrupts him. Roy. She frantically pushes at him, scrambles to her feet. By the time she has her skirt pushed down and her hair in some semblance of order, he’s hitched up his pants and he’s looking like nothing happened, except for the red marks on the side of his neck.

“The side door” she says. “Go out the side and give it a few minutes, then walk out front. He won’t see you.”

“Pam…”

“Just go.” She pushes him towards the door and he only hesitates a moment before he goes. They don’t have the time to think about this or figure out what it means, not right now.

The front door is opening when she spots her underwear on the floor by the couch. She snatches them up, shoves them underneath a cushion, then straightens up just in time to see him walk through the door. When he sees her he smiles.

“Hey, babe. Waitin’ up for me?” She doesn’t answer. Just walks towards him and wraps her arms around his neck. Surprised, he kisses her, sliding his hands under her skirt and groaning when he realizes she’s got nothing on underneath. She has to make this good, otherwise she’ll have a lot of bruises to explain come tomorrow morning.

Over Roy’s shoulder she can see Jim moving past the front windows as she pulls Roy towards their bedroom. And when he touches her, she manages not to flinch.


End file.
